LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Chap Copyright No. 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



THE QOLF QIT^L 




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COPYRIGHT, 1899, BY FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 



PRINTED IN AMERICA 



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G O L F 
I R L 



Illustrations by 

. Maud. Humphrey 

Verses by 

Samuel Minturn Peck 

Author of "Cap and Bells," "Rings 

and Love Knots," "Rhymes 

and Roses," etc. 




New T o r\ 
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 

Publishers 




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Copyright, 1899, by 

Frederick A. Stokes Company 

All rights reserved 

Printed in America 



TWO COPIES RECEIVED, 




•ECOND COPY 






Rondeau 



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?~~ ~~\HE Golf Girl, Sirs, I sing to you; 

Her sun-ripe cheeks, her eyes like dew. 

No Amaryllis in the shade 
Of bee c hen boughs — no nymph e'er strayed 
In Arcady as fair — or true. 



The world desired a woman new — 
The curtain s up. Advance and view, 
In hale and simple charm arrayed, 
The Golf Girl. 

The brightest, best of Beauty's crew, 
In winsomeness she works no rue 
As she on Setons links who played — 
How Mary Stuart 's charm would fade 
Before the sweetest ever blew, 
The Golf Girl! 




COPYRIGHT. 1899, BY FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 



PRINTED IN AMERICA 



Prologue 



ALL hail to Golf! A minstrel's glee 
Its royal praise would sing. 
By lilting bird and mellow bee 
He tuned his loyal string; 
And now upon the rolling lea 

With golfing flags afloat, 
Ah, happy prove the minstrelsie 
He wakes with merry throat. 

What sport more worth a singer's art, 

Or claims a sweeter lay, 
Than Golf, whose charms ensnare the heart 

Of goldilocks and grey; 
That lures the merchant from the mart, 

The bookman from his Greek, 
And gives a point to Cupid's dart 

When Beauty swings a cleek ! 

The bonnie game that crossed the foam 

To be our winsome guest, 
We'll never let it wander home — 

We'll keep it in the West. 
The turf above Columbia's loam 

As blithely greets the ball; 
For bunkers, cups — what need to roam? 

And hazards — we've them all. 

All hail to Golf ! Its blisses' flow 

Nor heat nor cold restrain: 
Be weather glasses high or low, 

We "tee" and drive again. 
No wind that pipes can wOrk us woe 

With clubs and caddies off. 

[7] 



When blossoms blow, — across the snow. 
There is no game like Golf ! ' 

And so for Scotia let us twine 

A wreath in grateful joy 
Who gave to men such rapture fine 

To chase the world's annoy, 
To deck the cloud with silver line 

Whate'er the weird we dree; 
A garland for the golfer's shrine, 

St. Andrews by the sea! 



\A Lucky Drive 



OFT at croquet I'd seen her play 
Till gloaming lured the light away; 
And mused the while her face grew 
trist 
As fortune failed her flexile wrist; 
If arch defied 
Her skill, yet I'd 
A Heart her glance had never missed. 

At tennis I had deemed her fair; 
And memory shrined her jaunty air 
As o'er the grass with laughter sweet 
She chased the ball on flying feet, 

And Cupid in 

Her dimpled chin 
Had often set my heart a-beat. 

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PYRIGHT, 1898, BY FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 



PRINTED IN AMERICA 



And when she sculled her fairy boat 
I oft had watched her tresses float, 
And envied much the happy stream 
Whose bosom caught her beauty's gleam, 

And wondered why 

It let it die — 
The face that made me dream — and dream. 

With woman's art she kept it off — 

My wooing — till we went to golf; 

But when the wild breeze tossed a curl 

That mocked and becked — with brain a-whirl 

I drove away, 

And won that day 
Life's dearest prize, my golfing girl. 



Love Upon the Links 



'"\ TT TH^ERE hath the saucy urchin fled, 
%/%/ He with the pack of darts? 
▼ ▼ A blessing on his tricksy head, 
Despite his aches and smarts !" 
Thus quoth upon the street of late 
A greybeard strange. I viewed his pate: 
"Now, are you Rip Van Winkle's mate ? 
Why, Cupid's on the links !" 

[9] 



The old man leaned upon his staff 

And sadly gazed at me; 
And though I felt inclined to laugh, 

My pity hushed my glee: 
Perchance he was an ancient beau, 
This man that moved my pity so, 
And deaf — so I repeated slow: 

"Cupid's — on — the links !" 

The greybeard's head began to swim, 
He trembled — tottered — sat. 

As I revealed the facts to him, 
I fanned him with my hat: 

"Ah, Time hath ridden with a spur; 

Things are not now as once they were. 

Once Cupid tripped a carpet, sir, — 

Now Cupid's on the links. 

"Fair fingers now grown muscular, 
Their clasp is like a vise; 
And eyes that glisten like a star 

Are not afraid of mice. 
All artifice is out of style, 
No borrowed blush now tints a smile. 
'Tis sunburnt dimples that beguile, — 

Cupid's on the links. 

"Oh, by and by we'll take a stroll 
And view him on the green. 
His cunning face is just as droll, 

The slyest ever seen. 
His chubby legs are bare and tanned; 
The gayest of the golfing band, 
No gallant can his darts withstand 

When Cupid's on the links." 

[ "I 



To a Lost Ball 



L 



{Lover loquitur?) 
ITTLE Ball, you hid! 
Don't deny it, for you did; 
Truth is best. 

We sought you yesterday, 
Like a needle in the hay, 

East and West. 

Yet at morning — here you are ! 
Just beneath a daisy star, 

Beaming bright; 

And you look at me and smile 
Quite innocent of guile 

In the light. 

Did you watch us all the time ? 
Oh, the impudence sublime, 

Fancy now ! 

Did you catch each whispered word 
That I uttered passion-stirred? 

Well, I vow! 

And you think, you saucy Ball, 
'Tis to you I owe it all ? 

Answer quick. 

The ruse was not unkind; 
If you claim it, I don't mind — 
You're a "brick !" 

Let Science look disdain, 
There are balls endowed with brain- 

You are one. 

[ >■ 1 



So shrewdly to surmise 
A proposal in my eyes — 

Wasn't it fun ? 

Love unspoken on my lip, 
Though I sighed to let it slip . 
Could I speak 

With a rival standing nigh? 
How I longed to lay him by 

With a cleek! 

But misfortune drifted past, 
I told my love at last, 

Thanks to you; 

And I read my fate aright 
In my little lassie's bright 

Eyes of blue. 



The Lassie That Swiped 
JVith a Cleek 



HER eyes were the hue of the heather 
That moonlight hath dipt in the 
dew; 
Her smile like a beam in bad weather, 

That breaks from the storm-prisoned blue; 
And the day we went golfing together, 
From the scroll of the past shines unique; 
In my memory afar, 
Like an ill-fated star, 
Its lustre no language can speak. 

[ >* ] 




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COPYRtGHT, 1899, BY FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 



PRINTED IN AMERICA 



How winsome and bright was her chatter 

Until we came up to the tee! 
The topics we treated, what matter, 
Her smile only blossomed for me: 
And I thought could I only look at her 
Forever, e'en heaven were bleak; 
But when through the air, 
She drove the ball fair, 
I saw that she swiped with a cleek ! 

I recall we were playing at singles, 

And none but the caddies were nigh. 
But — alas! how the bitter commingles — 
Soon a stranger — to me — loitered by ! 
He lingered — and wrathfully tingles 
My blood as I think of his "cheek," 
Admiring her stance, 
Or exchanging a glance 
With the lassie that swiped with a cleek. 

It nettled me so — this intrusion — 

My clubs — wooden, iron, and brass — 
I mixed in a hapless confusion 

No madman could hope to surpass. 
If my ankles escaped a contusion, 
I owed it to luck, in my pique, 
As he laughed in his glee 
When she holed out in three, 
The lassie that swiped with a cleek. 

A passion 'tis idle to utter 

If no one will lend you a look 

Defiance 'twere feeble to mutter 
As I sought for my ball in a brook. 

[ >3 1 



But, oh, how I longed for a shutter, 
And a hospital bed for the freak 

Who laughed so elate I 

At my bunkersome fate 
With the lassie that swiped with a cleek ! 

But enough. When the sun had descended, 

And the links by long shadows was crost, 
I found with the game that had ended 

That more than one match I had lost. 
Not with me but another she wended; 
And the varlet whose sorrow I seek, 
He captured — the wag — 
Both the heart, and the bag 
Of the lassie that swiped with a cleek! 



Epilogue 



GOOD-BYE to Golf?" Good lack, sir, 
Your wits have gone to wool ! 
Mayhap your brain is mirky 
With goblets wide and full. 
Alas, poor foolish laddie, 
I trow your sober head 
Will drive you hame to bide in shame, 
And wish that you were dead. 

"Good-bye to Golf—" St. Andrew, 

Whom golfing folk revere, 
I greatly fear in heaven 

Hath dropt a pious tear 
To think on earth should breathe now 

A swain with faith so dim; 
"Good-bye to Golf?" Go pray it off, 

And make your peace with him. 

[ 14] 






"Good-bye to Golf—" Blasphemer I 

I tremble when you're nigh, 
For fear a bolt of thunder 

May swipe us from the sky. 
Such wickedness a pest, sir, 

May bring upon the town: 
"A jest," you say? Recall it, pray, 

Ere outraged Justice frown. 

"Good-bye to Golf—" Ah, surely, 

You murmur in your sleep; 
Some spiteful fairy spells you, 

With baneful wand a-sweep. 
The links — who ever left them 

Without a loyal sigh ? 
Then think how sad his lot who had 

To bid a long good-bye! 

"Good-bye to Golf?" — Oh fie, sir ! 

'Tis au revoir we say, 
And clubs at night lay by, sir, 

To bide the morrow's ray. 
The bonnie balls, forever 

We'll drive them in our bloom: 
And on the happy Golfing Grounds 

We'll "tee" beyond the tomb ! 




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